by Sherry Soule
Moving quickly to catch up, I spot Viola and Tanisha near the back of the store and hurry towards them. Four female shoppers skirt past me, elbows flying and trying to get to the half-off display as if I’m not even here.
“Super rude,” I mumble.
I stand on the toes of my red-plaid combat boots to peer around a towering display of toilet-bowl brushes. The candle section is empty now.
I scan the store again, flipping my hair over my shoulder. No sign of Viola’s tall frame or Tanisha’s bouncy dreadlocks anywhere. All we are supposed to do is buy some scented candles for Tanisha to mask the stink of the nail polish remover that she spilled before her dad freaks out. She practically needs a hazmat suit just to enter her bedroom now.
So where are they? Browsing the art deco section?
Walking the aisles at the back of the store one by one, I search for my friends. But every aisle is void of any girls dressed in Goth-like clothing. In the bedding section, a foreboding tingles down my spine.
“Well, well, look who we have here,” a masculine voice says.
Startled, I whip around and nearly knock over a stack of frilly throw pillows.
Zach stands a few feet away, rocking on his heels. “It’s Sloane, right?” he says, his face stretching into a fake smile, revealing perfect white teeth.
I nod. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m here with my mother.” Zach rubs the outer edge of one eye, his biceps bulging under a blue polo. “She’s buying a new espresso machine.”
“That explains it. Hayden’s supercharged by caffeine,” I joke.
My stomach drops at his scowly face. Zach’s glowering down at me with his arms folded. Usually, my witty sarcasm gets a laugh. Or at least a smile. Tough crowd.
“Why have you been harassing my brother?” His mouth pulls downward, his voice low and nasty.
Heat floods my cheeks. “What? I haven’t been!”
Zach takes a menacing step closer and picks up the amethyst pendant dangling at my cleavage. “Liar,” he whispers darkly. “Quit buddying up with him. Got it?” He drops the necklace and the pendant slaps my skin.
What is his problem? His threat pisses me off like no tomorrow.
My hands close into fists. All I can see is red. “Oh? Why not? Not that I give a rat’s ass what you like.”
“Watch yourself, Miss Piggy.”
Really? Fat jokes? How mature. But the insult is like a hard jab to the gut and tears prickle behind my eyelids. My confident poise slips and I spiral toward the bottom of the self-esteem pit. I’m starting to hate Zach Lancaster.
“You’re grouchy today. What the hell crawled up your ass?”
“Mouthy, aren’t you?” He steps into my personal space and lowers his head. Now we’re almost nose-to-nose. He towers over me, hovering, and looking down into my face without blinking. The bruises on his face from the fight are completely gone. No sign he was brawling yesterday with the other boy at school. As I glare back, I realize Zach’s wearing contacts.
My skin feels tight. “Why can’t I be friends with Hayden?”
He rakes his hand through his hair, assessing me like I’m an annoying bug he wants to flatten under his high-top. I backpedal away from him. Something menacing flickers in his eyes, but then they narrow, veiling whatever just flashed within them.
“Just back off, zaftig. And you can forget the interview. Bury it or else,” he threatens.
Zaftig? Is he seriously using big words to call me fat? Total douchebag move.
I lick my lips, breathing hard. My hands are shaking. “A least there’s a cure for people with weight problems—it’s called a diet. But I’ll be sure to tell you when they find a cure for idiots,” I say, trying to keep my voice from quivering.
I’d hoped for a bigger reaction from the insult, but I only get a maddening, patronizing calm from Zach.
“Score one for you,” he says in a condescending tone, but I swear his gaze holds a tiny hint of respect.
Out of the corner of my eye, someone slips into the next aisle. Heavy frame, short dark hair, pale skin. Dark aviators. Listening and watching us. Either my stalker’s back or I really have developed a major case of paranoia.
I shake it off and face Zach. “Hayden’s a big boy. He doesn’t need you to run interference for him.”
Someone clutches my wrist and I whirl around.
“Jumpy?” Viola laughs. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to beat the crap outta someone.”
“Actually, I am.”
Tanisha stands beside Viola. “Are you all right, Sloane?”
I turn around to confront Zach, but he’s pulled one of Hayden’s quick vanishing acts.
“I was just giving Zach Lancaster a piece of advice,” I say through my teeth.
Or was it the other way around?
The girls look up and down the aisle, then at each other and shrug.
“Is he still here? In the store?” Viola asks.
“I don’t see him anywhere,” Tanisha says.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. Because I’m just losing my damn mind.
Tanisha holds up her loaded basket. “All ready to go.”
After the weird run-in with Zach and spying the creepy stalker, there are only two words on my mind: Retail Therapy.
I stamp to the front of the store with my friends in tow. “I need a mood-lifter. Hot Topic, anyone?” I say over my shoulder.
My friends bob their heads in agreement. We pay for the candles and leave. As we pass through the doors into the mall, Viola smacks right into this tall boy carrying two bags. Everyone’s stuff goes flying.
“Sorry!” Viola bends to help pick up the runaway items.
The boy gets this big grin on his face. “No worries,” he says. He’s all lean muscles, lankiness, in a baggy T-shirt and worn, holey jeans. He rubs his chin. “Uh, you girls don’t seem like the Bed, Bath, and Beyond types.”
Tanisha crouches to retrieve the merchandise and shove it back into the bag. “We needed candles.”
“Oh, yeah, I totally can’t go a week without my...” He inspects the label on one of the pearl candles that rolled into his feet. “Lavender garden fresh scent.”
Viola laughs, and Tanisha shakes her head with a smile.
“I’m Brendan,” he says, gawking at Viola like she’s a shiny new toy on Christmas morning. “And who might you be?”
“Viola,” she says and flips her long, black hair over her shoulder. “These are my friends, Sloane and Tanisha.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says, gazing only at Viola. He takes her hand and kisses it.
Viola’s a sucker for romantic gestures. Tanisha nudges me and pretends to gag.
“We’re heading to Hot Topic now, wanna join?” Viola asks him.
“With you? Absolutely,” he replies with a wink.
The four of us stroll along the busy shops of Winter Mall. Viola and Brendan chat and flirt, while Tanisha and I move in front of them to take the lead. We pass other teens shopping and texting on their phones. Bored men sit on benches and wait for wives or girlfriends to browse the clearance racks.
We enter Hot Topic and I release a happy sigh. I love this store. Most people think it only has dim lighting, lots of black clothing, and loud music. But this store is about more than that. Everything about Hot Topic is a nod to darker fashion, from the retro band T-shirts to the blue suede Mondo Creepers. It’s a nice distraction from any stress in my life. Apart from the dwindling size of my wallet, there are no outside problems when I shop here.
We pass two salespeople serenely folding clothes into neat rectangular shapes. A girl from school says hi to me and goes into one of the dressing rooms. Tanisha and I rifle through a wall of shirts with funny sayings on them, while Viola and Brendan are engaging in flirty get-to-know-you banter.
“Did you just move here?” Viola asks him.
“No. I’m visiting my mom this weekend. Joint custody.” He shrugs. “What grade are you girls i
n?”
Viola puts her arm around the shoulders of a faceless mannequin dressed in a Linkin Park shirt. “We’re seniors at Haven High.”
Tanisha holds up a black dress. “I’m gonna try this on. Be right back.”
Brendan’s eyes brighten. “Hey, I know a couple of guys who transferred there, Zach and Hayden Lancaster.”
My ears perk up. “How do you know them?”
Brendan shifts his bags to one hand. “My mom is a private nurse and took care of their grandfather when they still lived in Castro Valley, where my dad lives. We used to be in this rockin’ garage band together until they moved.”
“What?” I ask, dying for some intel on those two. Mostly Hayden. “Band?”
“Yeah.” Brendan rubs the back of his neck with one hand, then says to Viola, “Hey, they have some awesome bands coming to the amphitheater, you like grunge rock?”
“Who doesn’t?” Viola says with a flirty smile.
“So what type of music did you guys play?” I ask, butting into their conversation. “You must have known the Lancaster brothers pretty well.”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, no.” Brendan glances back and forth between us.
“Which is it?” I ask.
“Yes, we played alternative rock together. And no, not really to the bros. We talked music, girls, and video games, but not much else. Why? You got a problem with them?” Brendan clears his throat. “I mean, that family is kinda strange.”
“How so?” I ask.
Viola steps lightly on my foot and harshly whispers, “Sloane, not now.”
I throw her a hard look. “Ouch. Really?”
“Yes, really.” Viola’s brown eyes narrow a bit, then she mouths the word, Later.
“Hey, girls, it’s all gravy,” Brendan says with a chuckle.
I elbow Viola aside and ask, “So, um, what else can you tell us about them?”
Meaning: primarily Hayden.
“Well, this is kind of weird...” He leans forward and raises his eyebrows. “My mom complained a few times that the family wouldn’t let her do any normal medical stuff, like blood workups on the grandpa. Mrs. Lancaster kept him at home, and even refused to take him to the hospital after he had a second stroke. My mom was ready to report them until Mrs. Lancaster produced a DNR order.”
A shiver steals through me. Viola and I exchange a look.
Viola frowns. “DNR is what?”
“Do not resuscitate. If he codes, they let him die,” Brenden says.
“Not very weird,” I say.
“Well, I think it’s freakin’ morbid. Especially since the guy didn’t look that old. Guess it’s why they refused the blood test, waste of money if you’re gonna die anyway.” Brendan shrugs.
I’m dying to fish out my trusty notebook from my fuzzy bowler bag and write everything down. But if I do, Viola will probably punch me.
“So, um...” I pause and spear Viola with a pleading, pouty face, then turn to her new friend. “Brendan, is there anything else you can tell us about them?”
“You crushing on one of the brothers?” he asks.
“No!” I shake my head. “Just curious about their family.”
“Sloane’s a reporter for our school paper,” Viola explains. “She needs the dirt on the Lancasters.”
“Got it,” he says. “Well, I heard the old guy had dementia, or at least that’s what Mrs. Lancaster used to say to my mom whenever he would start in with his war jabbering.”
“I guess he could have been in World War II.” Frowning, I try to work the math in my head. “That would’ve made him—”
“No. World War I,” Brendan corrected. “Like he was actually there, type talk.”
This guy has some interesting intel for my story. The reporter in me is salivating.
“Seriously? Now that’s bizarre,” I say.
“For sure, because my mom said he never seemed anything but lucid.” Brendan lowers his voice and says, “It gets even weirder.”
Now Viola and I both move closer, totally intrigued.
“Do tell.” Viola strokes his arm with light fingers, getting her flirt on.
His eyes get all twinkly and he licks his lips.
Damn, she’s good.
“This one time while I was at the house after the grandpa died, I happened to see the grandfather’s birth certificate among all these legal documents. It said he was born in 1889, which would make him, like, a hundred and twenty-five years old. Crazy, right?”
“Yeahhh,” I agree.
Brendan glances at the time on his phone. “Actually, I gotta bail.” He smiles at Viola. “So can I get your number before I go?”
Viola grins and reaches into her purse for her cell phone. “You betcha.”
While my best friend is busy scoring a date, I remove my notebook and write: Unnatural longevity. Check.
Another weird mystery to unravel.
FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE
Welcome, Snarklings!
Today’s editorial is about characters in horror cinema that act like idiots and make me go all crazy. As a rule, people who act stupid get iced.
Okay, so killer/zombie/paranormal is chasing after the characters and one of the girls stops and releases a blood-curdling scream at the top of her lungs. Then as the villain gets closer, she starts running while screaming.
I’m sorry, but if some evil baddie is chasing me, I’m not going to be screaming. I want to stay quiet and not give away my location. I’m going to be looking for a place to hide or trying to get help.
Besides, have you ever tried screaming and running at the same time? Yeah, not easy.
Peace, love, and horror flicks,
Zombie Queen aka Sloane
NINE
When I get home from the shopping excursion with Viola and Tanisha, the house seems unusually quiet. No Mozart blasting from my mom’s studio or video game shootouts blaring from my brother’s bedroom. A note left on the fridge says that my mom is at the gallery and Jonah’s at a friend’s house. And my dad—back from Boston—must be at his San Francisco office, so I’m grateful for the private time.
“Ahhh!” I almost trip over a black ball of fur at the top of the stairs. “Sorry, Jinx.”
The cat glares up at me with yellow eyes and definitely looks disgruntled. I sit on the top step to pet Jinx, while trying to calm the churning doubts in my mind. But there are just too many unanswered questions swirling around the Lancaster family. I scratch behind the cat’s ears and sigh.
“The Lancasters keep getting more mysterious,” I say to Jinx.
He meows as if to say, ‘So what? Keep scratching.’
I rub under his soft chin, thinking about what Brendan said about Hayden’s grandpa, but I’m not sure what bothers me more. The odd references to the First World War, or the DNR. He had to be joking around. Maybe Hayden’s grandpa was a historian or something. This sucks. Now I’m even more confused about Hayden’s strange family. But it’s the birth certificate that excites me the most—it’s concrete, unexplainable. A true fact in my report.
I leave Jinx behind and ascend the narrow staircase to my room at the end of the hall. I ease myself down onto the desk chair and power on my laptop. More research is definitely needed. For two hours, I search the Net for humans with longevity and come across lots of stuff on supercentenarians—a person who lives to be at least a hundred years old. Nothing useful for my article. I do learn that the oldest person in the world was a hundred and fifteen-year-old Japanese woman. Hayden’s grandpa definitely has her beat, making him older than dirt.
My phone chimes. I get up to open my purse and retrieve it. The screen reveals: Unidentified Caller. Clicking on the text message, my mouth drops open. No. Way.
It’s Hayden. U home?
A couple of questions instantly pop into my head. Like how did he get my number? And what does he want?
Only one way to find out.
Me: Yeah. Why?
Hayden: We need 2 talk. What’s your address?
Talk? About what? Curiosity kicks in big time. I text him my home address with shaky fingers.
Me: Ok. When?
Hayden: I’ll be at your house in 15 minutes.
I sit down heavily on the bed. He probably wants to convince me that he doesn’t have strange powers or he’s a normal eighteen-year-old guy. Or that I’m crazy. A red-hot sensation sparks inside me. Screw that.
Rubbing my temples, I have to admit that Hayden’s becoming extremely addictive. Like chocolate. Or cupcakes with white frosting. Yum.
I glance at the alarm clock and the digital eyes flash: seven-thirty.
Sweet zombie babies! I don’t have much time left.
I rush to my closet and rummage through my clothes, tossing various garments on the bed. Tugging off my dirty mall clothes, I hurry to the dresser, spritz some perfume, and rub deodorant on my armpits. Much better.
Going back to the bed, I flop down on the mattress to tug on a pair of skinny jeans, grunting and groaning as I zip them up. Then I pull on my favorite Misfits Iron Fist sleeveless jersey over a black tank. I drag a brush through my tangles, and I’m good to go.
A car honks outside and I start for the door, and then stop.
Shoes would be helpful, Sloane.
Going back to the closet, I slip on my black and white polka-dot mondo creepers. Now I’m ready.
I dash downstairs, grab my keys dangling from a hook in the foyer, and fling open the door. The warm evening air greets me, the moon shining in a dark blue sky through the treetops.
Hayden’s leaning against his SUV parked across the street and pushes off the Range Rover when he spots me. Peeking beneath his leather coat is a charcoal V-neck shirt and a pair of black jeans. His heterochromatic eyes seem to glow in the twilight.
I stare. Okay, I drool. Those firm lips. That buffed bod. The confident swagger. It’s hard to put a finger on what exactly makes Hayden so damn intriguing. Could it be his quick wit or darker tendencies? Or is my attraction only fueled because I want the chance to unravel all of his secrets? Whatever it is—it feels like I’ve been hit over the head with magical dust by the lust fairy.
He crosses the road, and we meet on the damp lawn near my driveway.
